


What makes me feel this way?

by creambee



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Jaehyungparkian, M/M, adventures in the big city, and shenanigans too, jaebri as dads with a wild past, they're so in love with each other my god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:36:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22424239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creambee/pseuds/creambee
Summary: Park Jaehyung and Kang Younghyun live every day like their last, their existence together an unstoppable force of the universe. At night, they warm the cold, dark city with their love. Thirty years have passed-and Jae and Youngk are still deeply in love with each other, but now they have four children and too many cats to count. One day, their daughter stumbles across a picture of them from their young days, and wonders what her parents used to be like. Jae and Youngk relive their illustrious past.
Relationships: Kang Younghyun | Young K/Park Jaehyung | Jae
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I was in the process of drafting a youngfeel fic when I started feeling this idea and was like jaehyungparkian is the perfect ship for this. (Don't shoot me, but I was inspired from Tiktok. Specifically the audio to the trend where kids show old pictures of their parents in the '80s/'90s. And I was like a throwback jaehyungparkian would be sooooo cute. Also, can someone please make an edit of them with that Lana Del Rey song? Thanks.) Alright, so since I'm the queen of "unfinished-books-with-2-chapters", here's my little dreamlike depiction of Jae and Youngk as teenagers.

I have two dads. One of them is tall and lanky, with golden-rimmed glasses he’s always pushing up his nose with a serious expression. The other is the life of the party, with furiously red dyed hair, black eyes dancing with mischief, and a droll smile. Oh, and did I mention they’re married to each other? Yeah, I know. I find it hard to believe sometimes too.

One day, I was going through a box of family picture albums and stray Polaroids for a school project I had. As I sifted through not-so-flattering baby pictures of my adopted siblings—all of them off to college—and me, a photo slipped out from between the album flaps and almost smacked me in the face. I picked it up gingerly. It looked like a real oldie—so dark it appeared black and white, turning a scratchy, faded yellow in some places. Yet the photo had a starstruck quality to it, as if just by holding it I’d enter into a different world. My dads were standing leaned against what looked like some bridge in Europe at night. Jae was sitting perched up on the bridge’s stone ledge, an unexpected feat because a) it was dangerous, and b) he didn’t have on glasses. My other’s dad arm looped around him posessively, resting comfortably on his hips. It was the most scandalous I’d ever seen my dads. They were mostly like domestic housecats, but this . . . this was very unlike them. In the picture, golden lights shone off in the far distance, seeming to reflect eternally on the black river water at night and in the boisterous gaze of my young parents. I wanted to keep this moment locked up in my memory.

I heard a low chuckle. I knew it was Youngk from how deep his morning voice could get. “Oh, so you found that picture.” I nodded, suddenly dying of curiosity. “I never knew Jae didn’t wear glasses! When was this taken? How long ago?”

“Ah, that . . .” Youngk got a faraway look in his eyes that I’d never seen before. “You’re right, Jae didn’t used to wear glasses,” he said with a faint smile tugging at his lips. 

“And . . . ?” But he didn’t say anything after that. I sighed.

Jae flopped out of the kitchen in his Chicken Little pajamas from two Christmases ago. “What’s all this about me?” he hummed. When their eyes met, a knowing look came over his face.

“Our daughter found the picture taken in Warsaw, babe,” Youngk said. Jae’s eyes flashed with a mysterious, unreadable emotion. “Warsaw. . .” he mumbled, kneeling down next to me and taking the picture into his hands. He turned it over immediately. On the back were what looked like carelessly scribbled song lyrics: “You’re the king and, baby, I’m the queen of disaster, disaster.” “That’s us,” he exclaimed with a rare smile. Okay, nothing was making sense. First, there was this picture from apparently somewhere in Germany, when I’d never seen my stay-at-home dads travel farther than the grocery store and back. Second, the smug look on Youngk’s face and the wondrous one on Jae’s. The words on the back, and the timeless feel of the photo—what did it all mean? I wanted to tell them all this, but instead what came out of my mouth was, “What’s going on?”

Jae laughed. No lie, LAUGHED. A high-pitched, bubbly sound. He stood up and turned to look at my other dad. “Should we tell her?” It sounded more rhetorical than actually questioning, from the big smiles on both of their faces. 

“Well,” said Youngk, “If we do, we have to start from where it all began.”

“In Indonesia.”

“Indonesia.”

And noooww they were repeating each other’s phrases. This just kept getting more and more intriguing.


	2. Colors

Jakarta Indonesia  
19 84 06 12

Jae walked off the airport terminal out the sliding doors of the airport and was immediately hit with a the hottest, most polluted, and most beautiful gust of Jakarta air that Jae had ever felt in his life. He took a loud sniff and sighed deeply, a smile of content on his face. Beside him, a native porter grunted in disapproval. Another crazy tourist, he thought to himself. He’d seen enough of those. Nevertheless, he walked up to Jae and cleared his throat, saying gruffly, “You need cab, and help with bags, no?” Jae grinned brightly and nodded with a bow. As he let the older man whisk away his bags and load them into the back of his cab, he peered around with bright eyes, his long arms hanging uselessly by his sides. When a taxicab came swerving by way too close to the curb, almost nicking the boy, he yelped and struggled to regain his balance. The porter, looking back to check on him, cracked a smile. He may be clueless, he thought. But he’s a cute kid. He waved at Jae, pointing to the car, and Jae came ambling over and climbed into the backseat.  
“To where?” asked the cab driver, starting the car.  
“Uhh . . .” Jae dug around in his pocket for the piece of paper on which he’d written all the places he’d researched to visit. His stomach grumbled, deciding for him.  
“Can I go to Little India, please?”  
“Pasar Baru? Okay.”  
Jae gazed out the window as they drove, just taking in the city—the metal animal that seemed ugly, but was unconventionally beautiful in his eyes. What drew him to the city was the movement—the flickering of lights on the horizon, the low-pitched roar of people’s voices and automobiles. The voice of the porter snapped him back to reality.  
“How old are you?”  
“I’m 17.”  
The porter tsked. “Too young for a big city like this.”  
Jae laughed, but it was more like a painful wince.  
“Done with school?”  
“Yes, I’m traveling my summer before college.”  
“Your . . . mom let you?”  
“Not really at first, but in the end she said yes.”  
“Ahhh . . .” said the porter, and for a while he said nothing. Jae clasped his hands, pursing his lips. He was just about to turn his gaze to the window when the porter spoke.  
“Where you from?”  
“Oh, me? I’m from LA. Cerritos, actually.”  
The porter didn’t bother to pronounce that. The rest of the car ride passed in silence. When they arrived at the food market, the porter told him gruffly as he handed him his bags, “Be careful, boy.” Jae smiled and thanked him. He set off down the narrow streets of Little India with his suitcase in tow and backpack high on his back. Since he was starving, Jae ducked into the nearest food shop he came across in the bustling market, which happened to be a small, cozy-looking noodle joint. The interior was dimly lit, with ancient fans rocking on the ceiling and most definitely sprinkling dust on the food of the customers below. A boombox crooned a song over slow guitar chords. Jae took a seat at the only empty table left, a two-seater, and ordered a cup of tea with his order. The tea arrived immediately, a steaming hot, milky cup, and Jae sipped it gratefully. Soon his fried noodles arrived, and Jae dug in with gusto. After a while, the chair in front of him scraped back and he looked up with a mouth stuffed full of noodles. A short, captivatingly handsome boy with foxlike eyes stared back at him. “Selamat,” said the boy.  
Jae choked and coughed. “Uhh, selamat,” he responded with the only Malay he knew.  
The boy said something else in Malay and Jae tilted his head in confusion.  
The boy sighed in exasperation and tried something else. “May I please sit here?”  
Jae’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh! Yeah, of course.”  
The boy nodded and settled himself down, removing a beaten-up looking brown leather bag from his shoulders and placing it on the dingy floor by his feet. He clasped his hands in his lap awkwardly and stared straight ahead at Jae slurping his noodles.  
“So, I take it you’re fluent in English?” said the boy.  
“Yeah. I’m actually from California, but I’m here on vacation.” Jae chewed his noodles and swallowed. “What ‘bout you?”  
The boy looked down. “Canada. My two-way flight to Korea got delayed, so I’m stuck here for the next twenty-four hours.”  
“Ohh, I’m sorry man, that sucks.”  
The boy's smile looked a bit strained. “It’s okay, I’ve always wanted to see Jakarta anyway. I didn’t think it would be like this, though.”  
Jae laughed comfortably. “Me too! My favorite singer was born here and I’m gonna see her perform tonight. It feels like a dream.”  
“Who is she?”  
“Niki. Niki Zefanya?”  
“Oh, Niki? I love her music! I can’t believe this!”  
“Crazy,” Jae sighed, his eyes sparkling. How likely was it that he found another English speaker his age in this big city, who also happened to be a fan of Niki? “Anyways, I’ve listened to her songs since I was little. I grew up and watched her music evolve.”  
“I was listening to one of her records with my friend and just fell in love. From there, I’ve been feeding my obsession.”  
Jae laughed. “What’s your name, by the way?”  
“Younghyun. What’s yours?”  
“Jaehyung, but you can call me Jae.”  
“Jae,” Younghyun hummed. “Do you have any idea how lucky I am to find you? I thought I was going to lose myself for a whole day in this big city for sure.”  
“Isn’t that the best part of traveling—getting lost?” Jae questioned, a mysterious twinkle in his eye. That twinkle took Younghyun by surprise. It made him think that it might be alright to get lost with Jae in this big city, if only for a day. As the afternoon wore on, Jae and Brian talked over noodles and tea in the small Jakarta streetshop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could you tell I was hungry while writing this?
> 
> And also for the sake of this fic let's pretend Niki was an 80s singer. I mean, c'mon, she already kind of fits the idea, right??
> 
> Thanks for reading loves, have a great day/night wherever you are in the world <3

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, that was shorter than it looked when I was typing it up
> 
> Also I'm SORRY but I didn't know how to have their daughter talk to them without making it cringey so that's why she's calling them by their first names. (No child of mine will ever call me by my name, for the record.)


End file.
